


What If...

by LauramourFromOz



Category: House M.D.
Genre: AIDS Pandemic, AU Pre-Canon Divergence, Family, Fencing, Fencing Australians, House's Leg, M/M, What-If, australians, medical proxy, prosthetic leg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauramourFromOz/pseuds/LauramourFromOz
Summary: What if Wilson was the one to make House’s medical decisions when he had the infraction?This is an AU beginning in 1987 in which, among other things:-Wilson doesn’t get cancer-Stacey isn’t in the picture-The whole army of fellows thing doesn’t happen-Wilson only has one ex-wife-Also Chase fences, because fencing is a superior sport





	What If...

**Author's Note:**

> There is an extensive backstory for Jayne but I gave myself a 1k limit for this so I left most of it out.
> 
> Jayne and Chase met though fencing tournaments when they were in their teens. They were at Sydney University together and lived together from their second year Jayne joined the army straight out of university and was injured by an IED in Afghanistan not long after Chase came to work for House. He didn’t know this until two years later when she showed up at the hospital. It appears in another story I'm working on.
> 
> This is the first thing I've put up in a long time and my first foray into House which I've recently gotten back into.

**_ 1987 _ **

There had been something between them, just beneath the surface since they’d met. Wilson liked to say it was fate. House liked to say it was about dammed time. They’d both had a hard day, lost three patients between them and Wilson’s wife had chosen that particular morning to fly off the handle about something so insignificant that by lunchtime (and his first patient death of the day) he couldn’t remember what it was beyond the fact that it was something to do with House. It was always something to do with house, however indirectly. His, entirely familiar, desire to avoid his wife was what had brought him to House’s apartment at the end of the day. He spent as many nights on House’s couch than his own bed these days. Beer, take-out and crap telly was their usual arrangement. They’d eat, drink, talk about nothing, three, sometimes four times a week.

If you were to ask House why suddenly, with no apparent warning, they’d leaned in and kissed each other at exactly the same moment like something out of a dammed romance novel. He would say that it was because he was sick of seeing his best friend (whom he happened to be a bit in love with) so dammed miserable all the time.

If you were to ask Wilson he’d tell you he didn’t have a clue. He blamed it on some kind of micro seizure that shorted something in his brain that made him loose all impulse control and kiss his best friend (whom he was also a bit in love with).

Wilson never stayed on House’s couch or in his own bed again.

**_ 1999 _ **

It was a rare day off from Princeton-Plainsboro for both of them. They’d owned their own home since 1992. It had been smooth sailing, Wilson’s decidedly not clean divorce and a smattering of garden variety homophobia notwithstanding. They were happy. The sex was mind blowing and they bickered like an old married couple which had started almost as they met.

It was a goldilocks kind of day, not too hot, not too cold, some wind, but not much.

All of a sudden, they were at the hospital and the pain in House’s leg had become so bad he was in a medically induced coma while his entire thigh muscle was rapidly dying.

A few days later House had woken to find Wilson, who had left his bedside for a sum total of under an hour since they’d arrived, dozing against the bed-rail House’s hand in his. House reached his other hand over and stroked Wilson’s hair.

House hadn’t intended to wake him with the action but Wilson’s tired eyes had fluttered open. House really wanted to kiss him.

“Hey,” Wilson said.

“Hey yourself.”

“How are you feeling.”

“They’re using the good drugs.”

Wilson leaned over and kissed him, “Greg…”

“My leg’s gone isn’t it.”

“It was your leg or your life Greg.”

“I know,” House made room in the bed, “Come here, you look exhausted.

**_ 2004 _ **

Five years later and House’s limp was barely noticeable, a combination of a good prosthesis and sheer force of will. He was almost entirely back to his old self. Not that many would find that a positive trait. He was rude, acerbic, singularly bad with people, never met half of his patients, could name even fewer, barely set foot in the clinic, subjected his staff to mild abuse and was only on time on the semi-rare occasions when Wilson managed to wrangle him out the door.

House’s pet Australian, who was entirely too pretty to be as straight as he claimed, was entirely un-bothered by House’s mild abuse and gave almost as good as he got. He was House’s undisputed (and unnamed) favourite. The other two fellow positions cycled every couple of years, nobody else seemed to have the Wombat’s staying power.

**_ 2014 _ **

It was a small wedding. By this point House had gained a second Australian fellow. Dr Jayne Eastick, an ex-army doctor who’d been at university with Chase and lost half a leg in Afghanistan. She’d visited Chase at the hospital one day and made such an impression House had offered her the job as soon as Foreman gave his notice eight months later. The third fellow position remained fairly fluid.

Cuddy and Chase were Wilson and House’s best men respectively.

Nothing was going to change. The reams of paper giving them legal rights and protections they’d filed in 1989 when their people were dying like flies and then 1992 when they bought the condo they still lived in were replaced in 2007 with their civil union which would in turn be replaced by their marriage. They’d shared every facet of their lives for 25 years, almost half their lives. That was the reason for the small wedding. While it held immense symbolic significance, in reality it was almost meaningless. But Wilson was a marrier and it made his parents happy. Besides, it was an excuse to throw a party. Wilson, because he was Wilson, had invited almost all of his patients, most of whom had come. With Chase’s help he’d asked a select group of House’s old patents and fellows, a little more than half of whom had accepted the invitation.

**_ 2018 _ **

House and Wilson were interviewing for House’s latest fellow. They’d seen a dozen applicants, all of whom House had rejected for reasons of varying validity. And then Dr Alex Cummings walked through the door, plain looking, Canadian, only a handful of years Wilson’s junior and who moonlighted as an actor. Cummings barely said two words before House hired him. And that was how House’s team became permanently comprised of: a quietly bisexual swashbuckling Wombat, a raging homosexual one legged ex-army doctor with a gift for swordplay and an asexual part-time actor.

**Author's Note:**

> And, yes, I do know of an actor who became a doctor later in life.


End file.
